Chicken Little, or why can't the chicken cross the road?

Recently, on one of our many trips to area mountain biking trails, we were headed down HWY 365 and I saw what looked like white feathers sticking up from some roadkill. Having just caught it in my peripherial vision, I dismissed it. That is until the next greasy spot DEFINITELY had white feathers - a dead chicken. Gainesville is a large poultry processing destination for the many surrounding chicken houses scattered across the countryside up here. We continued on down the road towards Gainesville, and counted 13 dead carcasses on the pavement. I guess taking a chance on death by speeding car is better than surefire death at the processing plant.

I was on the same road last night on my way to do a SORBA sactioned night ride at Chicopee Trails in Oakwood, just south of Gainesville when I noticed what looked like a feather drifting across my windshield. I came around a bend, and there was a flatbed trailer, loaded down with wire cages full of chickens, trailing a trail of white feathers. I remembered our previous encounters with their not so fortunate kin and made sure I was in the left lane and gave the team car a bit more gas to get around the truck - I didn't want to meet a chicken with my windshield!